


The Fledgling

by aliasofwestgate



Series: Bird of Prey [5]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, Shapeshifting, canon AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-12
Updated: 2012-11-12
Packaged: 2017-11-18 12:13:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/560952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliasofwestgate/pseuds/aliasofwestgate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fledgling is a young bird, taking its first flights from the nest. Learning its wings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fledgling

Nimueh’s bid to bring Albion to war had failed in Uther’s court, but it had not failed elsewhere.  A year after Merlin had become Arthur’s manservant; Arthur began to ride with the parties of knights to take care of the raiders that had come down from Caledonia, who had been attacking the few allied Duchies of Albion. 

It didn’t take long for him to find an answer to how he would follow Arthur into battle.  The words vivid in his mind, the first time he recited it in memory as he stood on the battlements. Arthur was on a normal ride, simply out to enjoy the country as he’d mentioned. The words had gone unsaid, but the manservant heard them, which lead to his current path. Merlin had seen the lines of worry across the tanned brow of the prince as he began his rides

    Merlin shut his mind out to all distractions on the battlements, already knowing the direction the prince had gone off in. Towards the forest, which was perfect for his plan.

The spell took shape in his mind, the threads of magic gold as he shaped them around himself. Reminding him of his Mother’s loom as tightened the idea of what he needed around himself further still. He sealed it with the final word, hearing the soft echo as the power took hold of them and he let the magic fly. Where the young man called Merlin stood, if any had been watching him there now was a small falcon. Unremarkable, from a distance from any other of its kind.  Merlin whooped for joy inside as he threw himself off the wall and spread his wings. The bird whose form he’d taken was his own namesake. The small shape ideal for him to play the game of catch up to the wayward prince.  The sentries looked around, wondering where the falcon had appeared from. The little raptor taunting them with its calls as it circled the castle and took off like a shot towards the old forest of Albion.

`````````````````````````````````

Arthur rode quietly, his sorting his thoughts out regarding the raids from Caledonia and his growing role leading the knights as he let his horse run for just a little bit between Camelot and the open farms around the kingdom.  The many farms reminding him that he must speak with the quartermaster as soon as possible.

He had given his horse its head and for a moment reveled in the stallion’s speed as they moved closer to the forest. Overtaken suddenly by a bolt of brown in the sky, and a raised shriek from the falcon chasing along beside his horse. Arthur eyed it and begins an impromptu race, seeing who could reach the forests first. Beginning to laugh as they raced, wondering where the bird had come from and abashed at its lack of fear of him and his ugly old warhorse.  The falcon of course, won the race and was waiting for him as they arrived at the forests.  Taunting him from the trees with its coarse voice, eyeing him and flying from tree to tree. Arthur as curious about the raptor as the bird appeared to be with him. He realized as he got a closer look, his mind half on the trail and the other examining the creature traveling with him. A merlin no less! Making his thoughts stray for a moment to his own lithe falcon of a servant. Who had been growing increasingly more restless every time he had to wait behind in camp while Arthur rode out to battle.      

        The darker haired man had said nothing as he helped him out of his armor, but Arthur could feel the anger at being left behind. He remembered it often enough as his father left him as a child to begin the bloody unification of Albion. The nature of the Pavilion, ornate as it was provided them no privacy. The guards and the waiting presence outside demanding he stay quiet and focused, even as he slumped down into his chair as the last of the chain mail had come off after that last skirmish.  Merlin attending to him without a word of protest, which worried Arthur even more. Not being able to even speak with his own Merlin about something he knew too well. So he rode, sorting out his mind and cheered by the bird as he kicked his warhorse into a ground eating canter.

``````````````````````````````````

Merlin had been enjoying the flight too much for words, his calls echoing off the old trees he would fly to and from. Circling around Arthur, feeling truly free for the first time in months and still able to keep an eye on what had become a promise to himself and to whatever else that came.  It was an odd sound that caught his attention as they continued on. His enhanced senses making him snap back in flight and return to a tree almost a quarter of a league a head. Turning his head to see more clearly he saw the shapes waiting in the hollow of an old oak. He flew back silently to Arthur, but kept pace with him this time. The prince giving him an odd look, wondering at the silent return of the previously loud and joyous creature in flight with him.  The distance was traveled quickly, Merlin constantly alert from his roving in the sky above.  

``````````````````

Arthur’s blond head whipped sideways in surprise as an armed man surged out of the tree with 3 others, attempting to hamstring his warhorse. The grey steed dancing out of the way, large but agile hooves and a snort at the puny creature in front of it. Arthur’s eyes narrowed in anger but widened in surprise the next moment as the merlin shot out of the sky in a classic stoop towards the largest of the assassins, shrieking bloody murder they entire time.

````````````````````

Merlin’s eyes remained wide as he let the magic guide him in how to hunt within this shape. He added to the impact with a surge of his own magic without thinking. The armed thug falling over with a crash and a curse.  He flew up to a height and swooped down once more. Letting his anger fuel another of the impacts once again. The magic’s power doubling his strikes as he rakes his claws across a face.  Some part of him hearing Arthur engage the three lesser thugs with his own blade, still seated on the warhorse.

He rises up again, never having to leave the site of the battle more than 15 feet before striking again. This time aiming for the area of the gut of the nameless, and smelly man as he began his final strike.  Knowing his claws will not penetrate chain mail, but his enhanced impact will do just as well, shattering the innards of the largest and most dangerous opponent on this hidden field of battle.  He connects, shrieking loudly and his wings flailing. Caught by the man and beginning to panic, suddenly shifting out of shape of the falcon and back into his own.  The assassin falls back suddenly with the increase in weight and keeps hold of his sword. Merlin lies panting on the ground, the dark blue of his eyes fierce. Remembering the daggers he never goes without, not after the last few attempts in the outer city itself.  Honestly out of breath, but far from out of ideas.  Ignoring the commotion as he readies himself, stifling his power for a moment longer.

````````````````````````````

Arthur dispatches the smaller thugs with near ease with the help of his warhorse. The old grey nearly trampling them to death as he gave chase for just a few feet. Dancing between the moving opponents and keeping out of reach. Allowing Arthur to weave a bloody dance with this own sword, taking the breath of first one and then the others.  Turning as the last body falls to the ground to see a shocking sight.  The merlin that had followed him caught in the hands of the largest thug, the one the small predator had engaged and in turn, saved him from the ambush glowing and then  _growing_. A familiar slim body, clipped black hair and ragged clothing appear in a shock of arms and legs fall down with a crashing thud.

He watches Merlin wait for a moment, watching a familiar tension in him. One he’d taught the servant himself. The man was totally incapable of handling a broadsword, but his knack with smaller blades more than made up that shortcoming.  His eyes wide in shock and surprise, mixed with the battle rage and fear that never leaves him with ever fight. Knowing if he makes a sound, Merlin’s ruse is useless.  Masking the sheer fright that makes his breath quicken.

```````````

Merlin counts the steps, judging the distance as the tottering giant lumbers near him. The assassin already weakened from the blow to the gut, he raises up his sword in a move wide open for Merlin’s move.  Merlin’s eyes stay as open as he was when he was the falcon whose name he bears, lunging to the side of the blow as it falls to the ground. The sword smashing just to the side of him as he sidesteps and then slips the dagger into the space of the chain mail. Silent in his grim task more so than any other time. Gritting his teeth as he slides the shiv into the larger mans heart and kicks his feet out from under him. Panting as he watches the life leaves the eyes of the assassin. Finally looking up and seeing the eyes of Arthur on him, unaware the other battle had finished.

Merlin attempts to speak, his words failing him. Falling silent as he stands and brushes himself off. 

“You never do as you’re told, do you?” Arthur raises a pale brow as he moves the horse towards him. Merlin answers with a shrug and a helpless laugh. The joke too old to reply to now, between them.

``````````````````

Arthur’s decision is made without a second thought.  His voice playful, and relieved to see Merlin the one standing up from the pile of arms and legs. He stands just outside the radius of the fallen bodies, allowing Merlin to catch up to him outside of it. Arthur dismounts the warhorse to speak with his wayward manservant. 

“No, you should have known you couldn’t keep me there for long.” Merlin answers back, his eyes flashing in challenge. “I couldn’t leave you alone, not with the record you have for attracting trouble.” 

“What say you stay as that falcon on the next battle, Merlin? Can you maintain it for the length of a battle?” Arthur fires back, meeting the wizard eye to eye.

Merlin visibly relaxes as the question he wants to ask is answered by that single straightforward demand.

“With a little more practice, yes.” Merlin answers brightly. “This,” his hand gestures out to the bodies some 20 feet away from them, “Was not on the roster of my duties today, sire.”  His voice still a little breathless from the battle, even with the mocking tone.

“Then I’ll see that you get the practice time, shall I?’ Arthur grins and mounts up again. “Race you to the Inner City?”  The warhorse picking up on the change in mood between the men immediately, eyes bright and pulling at the reign to go once more.

````````````````````````````

Merlin says not a thing. This time, not closing his eyes as he shape shifts again. Alighting on the saddle for a moment in front of Arthur and cocking his head, getting a good look at his charge. Once again whooping for joy, this time with the change once again in their lives together. He takes to the air in a rush of feathers, launching himself from the pommel and surges ahead of Arthur.

```````````````````

Arthur does not laugh, but the servants wonder at his incredible smile even as he reports to his father of the assassination attempt in the neighboring forests to the city.  What they never know is that the falcon they begin to see around the castle more and more often has blue eyes. Blue eyes that flash gold when the bird takes to flight.

 


End file.
